


vertical expression of horizontal desire

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Early Therapy Years, F/M, Mutual Attraction, Pre series, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 18:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Bedelia accepts a dance invitation from her patient and discovers something unexpected.





	vertical expression of horizontal desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caissa/gifts).



Her curiosity has always been her vice. And presently, being more insatiable than usual, it backed her into a corner of tedious small talk.

“The humidity can be uncomfortable, but the golf courses make up for it.”

Bedelia’s eyes glance at the man standing in front of her but do not linger. The retired psychiatrist has been talking about his house in Hawaii for what feels like hours. The only thing that has been missing is a Power Point presentation, Bedelia concludes, half expecting to be offered a time share any minute now.

She would not normally accept any dinner invitation so unreservedly, but her attention was instantly drawn to one name already confirmed on the guest list. _Hannibal Lecter_. It felt like a study opportunity, or so she told herself, to observe her newest patient in his element. She had heard many stories of his social standing, after all. It was high time to verify their authenticity. Above all, knowledge cannot be based on _gossip._

It was not hard to spot him among the crowd; standing taller than most guests, his appearance as immaculate as ever, the black of his perfectly fitted tuxedo almost luminous under the brilliance of the chandeliers. He had noticed her as well; a smile and a nod that was clearly meant for her, his eyes growing slightly brighter. Or perhaps she had imagined that, knowing her own stare turned burning immediately.

They had not approached each other, merely exchanging glances across the room, both aware that the other one was watching. Like two game opponents circling each other but unwilling to make the first move. Her attention scattered, she did not notice when she found herself within the grasp of her current companion, all too eager to get someone new to share his story with.

Bedelia’s finger presses against the bowl of the now empty glass, leaving a long smudge, which is more engaging that the topic at hand. It is so unlike her to let an impulse take over and now she is paying the price for the indulgence of her curiosity. Restoring the firm hold on her mind, she has been forming an excuse when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

“I hope you don’t mind if I steal Doctor Du Maurier for a dance, Martin.”

Her eyes become alert at once, an unexpected flutter in her chest, as she makes an unnecessary effort to straighten herself. But she does not turn.

“Oh hello, Hannibal,” the elderly man breaks out of his monologue with difficulty, his eyes wondering between the two people now standing in front of him, unsure what to do next.

“I promise I will return her to you shortly,” Hannibal presses on, his voice polite but firm.

“But of course,” the man adjusts his glasses as though only now grasping the meaning of the exchange, “I am sure I have taken too much of her time already.”

He pauses, waiting for Bedelia to disagree but she says nothing, her mind preoccupied anew with the man standing behind her.

“Have a good evening, Doctor. Hannibal,” he nods his head and leaves as promptly as he has appeared in the first place.

Bedelia’s gaze follows his swift departure and pursue of new listeners, before finally turning to look at her _rescuer_.

“Good evening, Doctor. What a delight to see you here,” Hannibal beams at her innocently, with a big smile adoring his lips, as if they haven’t been ogling each other all evening.

“Hello, Hannibal,” she responds with the same blissful unawareness.

“You look stunning tonight,” his eyes take in her appearance slowly, advancing from the bottom hem of her navy dress to the top of her loosely pinned locks, and she feels her skin warming under his stare.

“Thank you,” the heat has now moved to her cheeks and she is doing her best to ignore the burning blush, “And thank you for this, although it was unnecessary.” She does not wish to be perceived as someone who needs to be rescued, in any way.

“What do you mean?” he feigns further ignorance and Bedelia starts to grow annoyed.

“Your timely _interference_ ,” she states curtly, placing her empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter.

“Oh,” he looks genuinely surprised, which colours her annoyance with confusion, “I just wanted to ask you to dance.” His smile now looks almost timid. How _curious._

It is Bedelia’s turn to be startled; she has not considered that he would follow through on the proposal. Her gaze falls briefly on the space in the centre of the room, reserved for the dance floor, mostly empty, with only three couples marking its purpose. Her eyes return to rest on Hannibal; he is her patient, it seems somehow inappropriate. But then again…

“We are here as colleagues tonight, Doctor,” Hannibal intercepts her thoughts, seeing the conflict in her eyes, and extends his hand.

Bedelia watches, as though from a distance, her own hand reaching out to accept it without delay, tired of her mind’s indecision and taking charge. Hannibal’s smile turns even brighter, his fingers gently enclosing her hand as he escorts her to the middle of the floor. The band finishes one piece and a brief pause proceeds the beginning of a new one.

As the strings strike a vigorous note, her previous concerns give way to a new worry. This is the first time they have been so close to each other since she took him on as her patient. Their prior physical contact amounted to a handshake, confirming their new appointment and that was it. They were always separated by the distance between the chairs; it was her usual office setting, but now the chairs appeared to be too close and too far away all at once.

Hannibal’s arm wraps around her back, sure in its gesture, and Bedelia follows, gently resting her hand on his shoulder. She feels his firm muscles stretching beneath the fabric of his suit and fights a sudden urge to clutch her fingers tighter and _examine_ it closer.

His eyes become darker as they assume their position, she can see each flicker of the overhead light reflected in the black irises. His nostrils flare briefly, and she is certain he is delighted to be able to fill in the missing notes of her perfume, or rather her own scent underneath it.

The music starts in earnest and Hannibal begins to lead, his hand slowly pushing against hers. She has not contemplated whether his many talents include dancing. Remembering her years of dance training, she is able to follow anyone’s lead, which in fact means she usually finds herself taking charge and saving the dance.

But that is not the case this time. Hannibal leads her with ease and her body responds enthusiastically, anticipating his every move. They flow smoothly across the floor; following him feels as natural to Bedelia as breathing.

“I have a confession to make, Doctor,” he says unexpectedly after gently returning her to his embrace after another perfect turn.

“You didn’t really want to dance with me?” she feels brazen all of a sudden, the exhilaration of the dance making her mind woozier than any alcohol.

“Quite the contrary,” Hannibal grins with delight upon hearing her remark, “I have been wanting to ask you to dance all evening, but I was afraid you would decline. When I saw you corned by dear old Michael, I took that as my window of opportunity.”

Bedelia frowns but does not comment.

“I thought it would easier to persuade you to accept my invitation, given the choices,” the glimmer in his eyes lights up mischievously, making him look boyish again. And in some way, endearing.

His admittance is not startling, she would expect as much from him, but his confession is; she is used to Hannibal concealing his intentions, not revealing them.

“That is a lot of effort for one dance,” she says.

“It was worth it,” the roguery now tints his smile as he continues to sweep her across the dance floor.

And Bedelia lets him; she does not remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so freely, without a need to think about her next step.

Suddenly, the tune slows down, but she is not bothered. Without thinking, she takes a step forward, allowing herself to come within his embrace. He is close enough that she can feel the pleasant heat of his body, noticeable even through the layers of silk and cotton. But that is not the only thing she feels. As her body presses against his, something rigid and thick presses against her hips in turn. Still feeling dazed, it takes her a minute to realise its nature.

_He is hard, for her_. Her body tenses at once and it does not go unnoticed by Hannibal as he attempts to shift his hips aside but is unable to do so without compromising their dance position.

Bedelia’s mind races; it is not unforeseen for a patient to develop an attraction to their psychiatrist. But it usually manifests itself in _subtler_ ways. Reasonings and conclusions overflow her mind, but it must all wait until their next session. They are at a public function now, even if Hannibal’s urges seem oblivious to that fact.

She has always presumed a man like him would have more self-control. _But he does_ , the thought springs forward suddenly, making all other notions vanish in an instant. She had heard stories, whispered in secret with blushed cheeks and wide eyes, that Hannibal Lecter maintains his coolness, even in the most intimate of moments. And yet, here he is now. The idea that his usual perfect restrain was rendered non-existent because of her is more thrilling that she cares to admit to herself.

“Tell me Hannibal, do you agree with a theory that desire is just a leftover of unsatisfied need for love?” she remains strangely lightheaded and attributes her forward words to her state. No doubt she will regret them tomorrow, suffering from verbal hangover.

Hannibal’s lips twitch in a smirk and she can feel the hardness pressing against her body becoming more prominent. Bedelia knows it would be better if she ended the dance, _he is her patient_ , but she cannot bring herself to leave his embrace. Even now, _especially now_.

“Not exactly,” he takes up her challenge without hesitation, “The object of desire is pleasure. Therefore, desire is formed by an idea of its possibility.”

She is not surprised that he favours the hedonistic theory, being its poster child. Hannibal Lecter is not known to deny himself anything. Bedelia frowns; she expected more, or it may be that she is not pleased with an idea of being just another of his “objects.”

“Sometimes pleasure is already present in the desire for the object and any need for further fulfilment might prove _unnecessary_ ,” she falls back into her professional tone with ease, sensing the game has been unevenly matched after all.

Hannibal smiles, not at all discouraged by her words.

“Curiosity is a lust of the mind, yet without attainment, it is hollow, I think you would agree.”

She feels his hand slowly moving down her spine to rest on the small of her back.

“I do not believe lust and love are mutually exclusive. In some fortuitous cases, they can go hand in hand, creating the most satisfying of fulfilments. Even if I cannot speak from personal experience,” another unanticipated confession, with a hint of sadness in his tone. “But I am open to new exploits, however _unexpected_ they might be at times,” he inclines his head as though marvelling at his own realisation, “Are you open to exploring new sentiments, Doctor Du Maurier?”

His dark eyes peer into hers, eager and waiting, but Bedelia finds no right words to counter. She has dismissed him to early it seems, but he does not undervalue her. Still, she holds his gaze, carefully documenting his words in her mind, for later, more _detached_ , deliberation. Eyes locked, neither of them is willing to look away first. The warmth of his touch radiates through her skin and settles in her core. He makes no attempt to pull her closer, but her hips keep pushing against his erection with each step they take as the dance carries on. Hannibal’s eyes narrow and he lets out half of a growl before swallowing the rest, trying to maintain what’s left of his composure.

Watching him, Bedelia feels the warmth within her unfolding, and before she knows it, she is dripping with her own arousal. Somehow, the threads of her own tight control have unravelled as well, but at least, unlike Hannibal, she can keep it concealed. Or so she thinks.

Hannibal tilts his head with immediate interest and inhales deeply. _He knows_. It takes all her self-command to keep her expression unchanged and not dash away in a blink of an eye. She has revealed herself too much to give him the satisfaction of a further gain. His eyes are alert again, a faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, but he says nothing, probably preoccupied with distinguishing all the new notes of her aroused scent. To her surprise, the thought makes the heat within her surge even more.

She has come here tonight to study her patient, she has not expected to discover something new about herself as well. Bedelia ponders the effect they have on each other, as they continue to dance, lust burning steadily between them, not obvious to people around them. It is a secret they now share, one suddenly unlocked without their command, but by their mere presence. The heat in her core washes over her in deep ripples and she feels it advancing through her body, all the way to her tingling fingertips. A sweet rush of an attraction and silent anticipation of the things to come like she has never experienced before.

Finally, the music comes to an end and the silence that follows slowly fills with the chatter of voices becoming audible in the distance. Unmindful, Hannibal and Bedelia remain standing together, lingering in their mutual yearning and reluctant to part.

“Thank you for the dance, Doctor,” he releases her from his embrace at last, “I look forward to dancing with again. Hopefully, _soon_.”

With a final, lustful gaze at her, he inclines his head in a silent apology and leaves the dance floor. She watches as he exits the room briskly, reaching the hallway in a few long strides, surely not wanting anyone to notice his indiscretion. Her own body throbs with desire unfulfilled, but she knows it is just for now.

She is certain their next dance will prove much more pleasurable.

**Author's Note:**

> This story originated from a fanfiction trope mash up meme, dance of romance/ didn’t mean to turn you on.  
> "Curiosity is the lust of the mind" is a quote by Thomas Hobbes.


End file.
